The Third Generation?
by Wrive
Summary: The Cursed Child is Rita Skeeter's latest "exposé" and she's missed the Big Scoop: Delphini's Pregnant! Probably. It's taking a while to check. Lots of original characters but I'm trying to follow canon except Parselmouth Harry. That's going to have nothing to do with Harry the Horcrux. Not sure what sort of tone this going to end up with. Dramedy maybe?
1. The House of the Dementors

The guard's room was brightly lit, as it had been for some nineteen years. Much of the light came from the three vast hearths, set in the centre of each of the exterior walls, and their blazing fires. Tonight they were enough. Most nights they weren't. The Dementors may have left Azkaban, but their chill remained: a deep scar in the rock and on the minds, even now, many prisoners. But not the guards. They were young: too young to remember Dementors, which was why they had the night shift. Why they _always_ had the night shift.

"What's that you're reading Squires."

"_Harry Potter and the Cursed Child_, Morgan."

"Well, well… Edmund Squires reading a Skeeter book? I never."

"Shut it, Morgan." Squires looked at his watch, well-kept and silver. "Shouldn't you be doing your rounds?"

"I was. Came back 'ere, didn't I?" Oleander Morgan was one of the newest, and therefore youngest, Aurors. She'd been interviewed personally by Harry Potter himself, who'd heard from his successor in the Auror Office about a "fantastic applicant." The interview hadn't disappointed. There are few things in life more ubiquitous than the common sparrow… and Oleander could turn into one.

"What!? Why?" Edmund Squires was, being an Auror, a remarkable wizard, but he wasn't an animagus. And he couldn't charm household objects so that if they were transfigured into quills they'd write what they'd "heard" either. But he did know the policies better than Oleander… he fancied he knew them better than the boss man himself, Stephen Williamson: the senior of only two Aurors left who'd seen Voldemort in person. A point that rankled. Basically no-one but Williamson could remember the Dementors, so why lie and say that was the reason for months upon months of night-shifts on the island fortress? It didn't help no-one wanted to be an Auror any more. The Dark Wizards were gone. The celebrities had moved to the wider Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The Hit Wizards did all the cool duels with none of the hard investigative (or guard!) work. And since there were no more dark wizards, they also did very little work but with all the same hazard pay… And then PAN717 went and reminded everyone being an Auror was dangerous too… Edmund saw no prospect of relief any time soon (and as soon as there were new Aurors, Ferguson and Kim had been here longer anyway).

"I think Prisoner PAN717… well, I think she's pregnant." Oleander flicked her fringe out of her eyes, it was getting a bit long so she made a mental note to fix it (later, when there was time). "I'm not sure of the procedure."

"I won't deny it's an unusual outcome, especially for PANs, but there are quite literally reports for everything Morgan." Edmund put down the book… it was getting weird anyway, what the hell was that with the Trolley Witch? He'd _met_ the Trolley Witch. "Wait, PAN717?"

"Yeah…" Oleander looked at Edmund. He was, sort of, handsome… somewhat square jaw, hidden under a short cropped, but full and moustached, auburn beard, which was fine… except it didn't suit the Potter-styled, mousy-brown hair, and it definitely didn't work with that expression of astonishment, "…oh!"

"Okay, find Kim, Cass, Ferguson, Chan and Jakes… find out if any of them have read this book. While you're doing that I'll fill in the forms and draft a letter to find out what the official position is on the…"

"Level of truth?"

"Yeah." Edmund looked back at the book. "Honestly, I don't expect it to be high."

* * *

By the time Edmund's owl, a fine if temperamental snowy by the name of Augustus, returned they'd discovered none of the other guards had completed the book. They did, however, learn Rebecca Cass was nearly halfway through, although she was hate-reading so admitted to having skimmed some passages. Thus, it was Brian Chan who met Augustus in the owlery. And Brian, grump though he was, relayed the Official Advice to the Team. He read verbatim:

_Azkaban Night Watch,_

_We advise you that the broad strokes of Skeeter's _Harry Potter and the Cursed Child (HPCC) _are true. PAN717 did, indeed, mislead the children of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy and there was a time turner related misadventure._

_As you know, PAN717 _is_ the daughter of Tom Marvolo Riddle (alias Voldemort), but Skeeter is notoriously unreliable and the Minister is furious that the book was allowed to go to print. It is the opinion of the Ministry that Skeeter's penchant for embellishing the details of relationships colours every character interaction within the book. _

_Do not allow _HPCC_ to inform your decisions regarding the securing and security of PAN717; consult _Azkaban Regulations II (PAN) _and PAN717's personal incarceration plan in _Inmate Specific Regulations (2021, 1) _only__._

_Further, do not discuss_HPCC_ with PAN717._

_ Stephen Williamson, Head of the Auror Office_

_pp. Harry James Potter, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

_ pp. Hermione Jean Granger, Minister for Magic_

A silence fell on the gathered Aurors. This was a reprimand as much as a directive. Ferguson spoke first.

"Look, you three are on admin tonight. We better get back to patrol."

"Um, yeah, okay." The unlucky trio of Cass, Squires and Morgan watched as their colleagues left the guard's room and headed back to their rounds: the skeleton night crew at its most skeleton.

"Maybe you should have mentioned she's pregnant, Squires."

"Our objective was only to establish if…"

"And look where that got us!"

"Have you read the _Inmate Specific Regulations_?"

"No."

"You should have. They're well considered, _very_ thoughtful even. A pregnancy is highly unexpected and that we're learning about it only now is…"

"You're trying to demonstrate that not mentioning the pregnancy was a good idea."

"The _Regulations_ are very clear, Morgan. And I see you scoff Cass, but they are. The only possible relevance of _HPCC_ was in determining a prospective father. Clearly, we cannot trust _HPCC_ in this regard, nor can we use it as a basis of enquiry with PAN717 directly. A point, I might add, is now particularly fraught…"

"Why?"

"As I was saying before Morgan interrupted, Cass, is that either we have been remiss in our duties or PAN717 remains sufficiently powerful to obscure a pregnancy. We must now interact, as per Regulations **and** Inmate Specific Guidelines, with PAN717 in groups of four or more."

"Hang on…"

"Yes, precisely, Cass."

"But… she could give birth _tonight."_

Oleander looked from the short, bulky Rebecca to the only slightly taller, but much bulkier Edmund. It didn't sound like her voice that followed. It was surely too quiet… "Good Lord! You're right."

"How can the regulations have something to say about this, eh Squires?"

Edmund set his jaw. Even under the beard, the effect was… ruggedly male. It was the perfect expression for the square jawed. He ran a, slightly scarred and increasingly pale (too many Azkaban night shifts) hand through the too-long, deliberately (but attempting to look casually) messy hair on his crown… as yet, still thick. He blinked too, obscuring the fire-lit hazel irises. Neither witch noticed the effect, but if Oleander had… she might've been receptive, in a 'remember for after works drinks' sense. But the tall, slim witch with the long chestnut plait had turned to her attention to her triumphantly negligent, spikey and miraculously still tanned female colleague. Rebecca, in turn, had seen the clock over Edmund's shoulder. It was only 2am. She hated that she thought of 2am as 'only 2am.'

"Well?"

"You really should have read the regs, Cass." Edmund… squared his body, muscles rippled beneath his loose fitting, dark-blue Auror guard robes. He now faced his muscular, sandy-haired colleague straight on, Oleander's shoulders nearly parallel to his own. "Do you really think pregnancy is so unlikely a problem no-one put it in there?" He blinked. This was… a weird conversation to have with witches. "That contraception is at the top of their…" he indicated to the cells below, "minds?"

"Careful what you say, Squires. There's two ways you can go from 'ere."

Edmund turned to Oleander. She looked angry, almost… betrayed? "The point is, it's in the regs. Grab two of the others, I'm to St. Mungos. I'll be back momentarily. Establish a perimeter and secure PAN717…"

"We'll be leaving the other prisoners with just two patrols…"

"No, Morgan, we won't. It'll be one. Ferguson's break's about to start and it's her first tonight."

"Squires, the regs can't possibly say…" But Edmund had already gone.


	2. 36 Arguments for Prison Reform

It wasn't St Mungos.

The regs _didn't_ say to go to St Mungos. They hadn't since Azkaban had its own rotation of healers. Since the Aurors had made Azkaban _their_ infirmary as much as the prisoners'.

But Edward wasn't at Azkaban's infirmary either.

This was a muggle hospital. And she was a… muggle doctor.

The regs _were_ very clear.

It's just… Williamson wasn't as onto the paperwork as he should've been. His predecessor had left rather a lot of it… not completely done… in a time of mass reform. _Ongoing_ mass reform.

Edmund started a fire. He'd find her in the carpark. He was pretty sure the Muggle Minister would live… whoever Susan Bones was undercover guarding the survivors of the Parliament bombing couldn't have been in _that_ much danger. If they were, they would have found some trace of magic in the wreckage and Edmund knew they hadn't: Official Advice aside, Williamson had taken the paperwork friendly Auror under his wing. That friendship? mentoring? might even have explained _why_ the Official Advice had been so… clear, now he thought of it.

Squires was supposed to know better. It was the _whole_ point. And he _did_ know better. He knew Bones sometimes worked directly for the wider DMLE or even for the Hit Wizards. Out of office, internal contract work. Did Williamson make _this_ posting? What was the heading on the memo? Edmund couldn't remember. It wasn't like Morgan or, especially, Cass were friendly.

It'd go in the report.

Maybe someone would read it.

One day, anyway.

The Minister was meant to like paperwork. He knew the stories. Even if Skeeter wrote them.

You put it in the report. All of it. _That_ Edmund _was_ sure of. There was oversight.

"Susan Bones?" No reaction. Edmund sighed. He wasn't surprised. Bones was good, could've gone with the rest of her generation when Potter took over the DMLE. Hadn't. But, then, she'd joined after Weasley left, right? Became a healer first. She'd be loyal not just to the ex-DA. "I know you're Susan Bones. I'm here under Authorisation 5a, Azkaban Regulations II (PAN)."

The ginger witch hissed back a reply, the famous plait so often imitated by the younger Aurors whipping around as she turned, "I'm undercover you fool."

"We think the… patient… concealed the pregnancy."

"On a… closed ward?"

"The regulations were very clear."

"You see that man?" Edmund nodded. "Good. This is Polyjuice. Stash him somewhere until I get back. This post _cannot_ be abandoned."

"Who is he?"

"An Administrator. He's new and everyone hates him. You should be able to blend."

"The regulations were…"

"Fuck the regs! This post _cannot_ be abandoned." Bones thought for a second. "Which, uh, patient."

"PAN717. Should I write it…" But Bones had gone. And the Administrator was on the move… On second thoughts, maybe he should have thought more about this. Trained healer and Auror she may have been, but Bones was wizard-raised… her being undercover in a muggle hospital might not have had anything to do with the bombing, which was recent. There could not possibly have been enough time to prepare a cover identity? "Shit."

Squires hurried to catch the man in the brown tweed jacket and blue suit trousers. And pink and green striped socks. Couldn't forget those. For the report.

* * *

It was definitely a medical event.

It might well have been a pregnancy. And definitely a late term pregnancy, consistent with a prisoner who'd been in nearly exactly nine months.

Bellies, quite simply, did not normally protrude in so rounded a fashion.

Oleander Morgan had never been pregnant. If you asked her, she might have said she wanted to… one day. Her parents wanted grandchildren. She knew that. She also had two siblings, one of whom, like many Magical Britons, married young and the other looked to be about to seal the deal. But Morgan had been undercover in a muggle university. She wasn't there long… few trainees managed more than three days hiding in the muggle world (and Oleander's three weeks was a five year record)… but she'd been exposed to a vibrant debate about not just the ethics of children (and prospective grandparents' desires) but the health effects. And the health/ethics stuff. What was the phrase? Biological clock? Surely not? Something clock, though… What Oleander remembered certainly was that prison babies had attracted quite considerable attention. She just wished she remembered the debates for their substance, rather than Ruby Kim's triumphant 'found her!' because PAN717 did _not_ look good.

"Shouldn't she be glowing?"

"She's pregnant, Chan, not a mushroom."

"Quiet, dammit." Rebecca Cass was taking control. Sure, Morgan had noticed the issue and Squires took charge before (and that was _then, _not now) because of the regs issue and Chan had read the Advice, but Rebecca was the best. She knew that. She found Kim in two days. Chan in half a day. Squires had taken a week, but that was a three-year record. And, sure, she'd been found in the typical three, but Morgan was clearly a muggle studies prodigy… she knew for a fact Kim wasn't _really_ on duty when she'd found "Five Year Record" Oleander. She'd read _that_ report _very_ closely. Better marks. Better training scores. Better inmate reputation. Well… that was a bit hard to judge, but they all knew it. And she'd read more of the bloody Skeeter book, whatever Squires said. The best take charge. Well known fact. "And we _don't_ know she's pregnant."

Brian Chan flicked his floppy black hair off his eyes: months of Azkaban night watches were starting to reflect in increasingly lax observation of the uniform regulations. "Come on Cass, what else is she supposed to be?"

"Quiet. We'll wait for the healer."

"What healer?"

"Why else would Squires be going to St Mungos, dungbrain." Sheesh. Chan was chatty tonight.

"We've got healers on site?"

"Have _you _read the regulations?"

"I don't even know why she's called PAN_717_. There aren't any other prisoners in this class!"

Rebecca snorted. "Exactly. So, quiet."

Kim looked at the clock over the cell. 2:15am. She adjusted her lithe body to watch the cell and the sectoral door. "Can't be much longer. You said Squires left just after two, right?"

* * *

Susan Bones _had _been pregnant. Three times. One abortion. Three kids. One because all her school friends felt the time was right and they were all young and invincible. She hadn't enjoyed the experience overly. And then the toddler phase! Nope. Not her. Hence, the abortion. The twins were... unexpected… but she was well established in her career, the threat of war had eased, Annie was Hogwarts age and Justin now worked from home. It _just_ made sense… and the memories of the first time had faded. Then, of course, came Delphini. PAN717. And the twins were only two.

In the end, Delphini didn't become another war. But people still died. And Susan had still worried. Not as much as Harry, of course. Or even Malfoy. But few had lost as much to Voldemort as Susan Bones.

She'd been there when they slammed the door shut. The last door PAN717 would ever pass through. Azkaban might've been reformed, but the prisoners were all in solitary, all the time. In the muggle world, the expense was horrendous. But magic could make a single prison more than big enough. Magic could provide, for the cost of a single meal, enough food for an entire prison. And if you could run the night-shift with just seven (not particularly talented or, it seemed, competent) Aurors? Why not have everyone in solitary? Because Hermione Granger didn't like it? The Dementors were, wrong, yes, but prison was meant to be prison. Wizards could feel that in their, and Susan allowed herself a smile, bones. PAN717 wouldn't get lost, though. Not with the new reference system. Susan doubted Hermione had intended the prisoners to be referred to by their alpha-numeric reference, but prison was meant to be prison. Not that Susan _wanted_ Delphini to disappear in a labyrinthine fortress staffed by uncaring and bored Aurors. No. She _was_ a Hufflepuff. It's just prison was prison. And murder was murder.

But how to keep the most powerful Dark Wizards under lock and key? Could you? Should you?

Susan had voted yes. In a narrow vote. Too narrow.

Prison was prison. Murder was murder.

The PAN code was reserved for the most powerful of offenders. The Dumbledores. The Grindelwalds. The Voldemorts. The Delphini's of the world. And without Grindelwald it would never have existed.

It was a moot point who was the most powerful wizard of the last 150 years. Most agreed it wasn't Grindelwald, but who could tell where Grindelwald ranked relative to the Riddles? And who would bother asking? Evil was evil was evil. But it wasn't, was it?

Why Nurmengard? Why not kill everyone in his path like Voldemort? Because he was nicer? Kinder? Nurmengard was no joke. It had never been Azkaban under the Dementors, but it was a hell on earth all the same. And it wasn't, as Hermione had argued forcefully, really a _why_ question at all, but a _how. _Nurmengard existed because Grindelwald could make it work. A prison so perfect, it could detain the second-most powerful wizard of the age: one who had created it no less. So, how?

Susan didn't know. It turned out no-one did. Not Hermione. Not Dumbledore's portrait. Not the best curse-breakers. Not the best Aurors. No-one. But Susan did know they put their best approximation into PAN… and left it empty for a decade. Until PAN717 arrived nine or so months earlier. Random alphanumeric reference and all.

Susan never asked why they didn't give all Azkaban the same level of security. In her mind, it was because the wards did things to the prisoners. She knew Hermione would never stand for that. And who would argue with the wartime hero? One marked by destiny (or, at least, friends with those that were) and surely fated for High Office? Or maybe it was coincidence: the Order of the Phoenix would naturally be populated not just with dedicated opponents of Voldemort, but also those with more Dumbledorian than traditional politics… Whatever the case, it made for a long walk right to the highest floors of Azkaban. Three of which lay empty… security measure, they said, insulation, Susan suspected.

PAN717's cell sat in the middle of a cold, circular chamber. In the unlikely event of a fellow PAN, the room was charmed to expand; a risky business… but with so many magical energies in the stones, with at least six guards on site at all time and with only prisoners being threatened, they were willing to take their chances. But with just Delphini Riddle? Lestrange? Black? One cell, as far from the single entrance and walls as possible. A single iron cage, a hard iron bed, a few torn and scratched blankets and a shower space. Not much. But more than many wished any prisoner to have. And certainly not enough to hide any but a phantom pregnancy… but it couldn't be a cryptic pregnancy. By definition.

And they also tested for pregnancies. With magic. They weren't stupid.

Was the cell insecure? Could PAN717 still have her magic fully at her disposal? Or, as much as she could without a wand? Wouldn't she have escaped?

Disease, then. Swollen abdomen. Cancer? Malnutrition?

But the medical checks? Missed paperwork? "Accidental" mistreatment?

No… they could, and had, compelled treatment before.

Hmm… maybe the PAN wards forbade treatment. Grindelwald was ill when he died. They might have thought it part of the system… Yes. That made sense.

No way was it going to be a pregnancy.


	3. Don't Fear the Bureaucrat

Awake

Williamson frowned. It was no good. He was awake. And by the looks of it, so was his partner. _Fantastic._

"Lumos." It was 2:25am. "Merlin's balls."

Might as well go in. Four hours sleep was good enough.

That bloody owl. Augustus? Augustine? Augie? How'd it even get inside, anyway?

He left a note, then disapparated.

Some people just _hate_ conversations through toilet doors.

* * *

The Auror Office _technically_ worked around the clock, every day of the year. In practice, the Azkaban guards were the only actual Aurors with routine night-shifts. There just wasn't enough work for the Aurors to bother keeping even a skeleton office overnight. And, so, Edward Lupin worked alone. Barring the occasional victim of the midnight oil, anyway.

It wasn't like the work was dull, either. Not interesting enough for Lupin to consider becoming an Auror, but certainly not dull enough to request a new brief. Victoire might not have liked it, but the night-pay was fantastic… and Lupin had wedding bells in his ears. It wasn't just the thought of marrying Victoire, but that he could pay for it himself. Harry'd got him the job (or jobs, considering he was rotated through departments every couple of months… building experience) and had invited him to so many dinners over the years, Edward really wanted to return the favour: even if it was symbolic. But there were so many cousins! First cousins, too. The kind that noticed not being invited. And they… the older ones… were Lupin's friends too, not _just_ Victoire's cousins. They simply _had_ to be there. And so Edward Lupin of the recently established Ministerial Oversight Committee found his lot in life generally quite undisturbed by the officials whose conduct he, theoretically, audited. Not that they had many new cases, anyway. Mostly it was archival records and ex-Aurors like John "I'm Confunded" Dawlish.

"Still here Lupin?"

The young man sighed, and swivelled in his chair. "Hallo, Williamson."

"Boy, with talent like that we'd love to have you in the Office."

"It didn't help my mum."

"But even so, son." Williamson paused... "and she was a damn fine Auror, Edward."

Lupin reflected. In principle, the Order of the Phoenix did a lot of good for Wizarding Britain. On the other hand, it was a secret organisation who infiltrated ministerial departments and bent officials to its will. In principle, the Order was a great reason why they needed Oversight to start with. Even if, yes, finding Death Eaters was what they really wanted him to observe in the archives. And he had. But in _this_ Office? It was mostly Order infiltration he was finding. "She did a lot for everyone. I wish I knew her."

"She was very clumsy. I'm sure you've been told."

Lupin changed his hair back to pink. "Why are you here anyway? I know there are no urgent cases."

Williamson smiled wryly. "That _is_ your job." Hang on… it was _Lupin's_ job, wasn't it? "Actually, there might be an urgent case."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. The guards in Azkaban have been getting antsy about PAN717."

"Ah, the Riddle/Lestrange Problem."

"Problem?"

"Your Aurors don't tend to keep a consistent nomenclature." Lupin waved his wand… four folders appeared. "These, almost all by Squires, use PAN717 exclusively. These refer to Riddle, these Lestrange. Some of them might refer to her parents but are filed here due to the recency of the reports. And these switch between Riddle and Lestrange…"

"Any go by Diggory?"

"I'm sure, in light of this travesty, I'll be adding a new folder in due course. It's very difficult to oversee and audit when I spend half my time double-checking the filing." Lupin paused, "If she was at large it'd be a much bigger deal. I know the Hit Wizards have the same problem…"

"So? They go where we tell them to."

"And if they had come by vital information, filed it under Riddle and your Auror looks under Lestrange? Information sharing is critical…"

Williamson frowned again. "I see your point. I'll put Squires on it."

"I'll tell you his conclusion now… PAN717 as the exclusive term of reference. Never uses anything else."

"Makes your job easy, I suppose?"

"No. You're obsessing about this specific case! You… We… need a general rule! How can you use a prisoner reference to write about a suspect at large? If you want an alphanumeric system, you'd need to have a distinct field classification procedure… suitable for post-duel reports and investigations. Don't put Squires on it. He's only ever been a guard."

Williamson ran a scarred hand through his, somewhat patchy, grey hair. He hadn't supported Granger's Oversight proposal… the Office needed flexibility. But here was his Oversight guy telling him he needed flexibility right back… that they didn't have _enough_ flexibility to make _oversight_ effective! But this wasn't the second guessing he'd come in to do. "Okay, fine. I'll think about it. But back to PAN717 tonight."

"Is it related to Skeeter's book?"

"Yes." Williamson's natural desire to compartmentalise rubbed up against his instincts. It might have been a question about a book, but it was still very out of book behaviour from Squires. "The Night Watch asked about its utility as a… I suppose, manual for PAN717's incarceration." Williamson ran his hands through his hair. "No. Scratch that. _Squires_ asked."

"Squires?"

"Yeah, that was my second reaction too." Williamson paused. It was too obvious. "Except I didn't turn my hair black."

"_Clearly._"


End file.
